


Call Me Babe

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Always, Babe is such a sucker for Gene, Bicycles, Dogs, First Meetings, Gene works at a hospital, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 00:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: Its not until Babe enters the lobby that he realizes two things. One—he's totally fuckin' nuts. Two—Bill could never find out about this.OR: Babe sees Gene around his neighborhood one day, and as these things go, he falls hopelessly in love with Gene in a matter of seconds. He pursues the beautiful man in what can only be described as a slightly stalker-ish endeavor.





	Call Me Babe

**Author's Note:**

> This is so un-beta'd that I'm a bit ashamed. But...not ashamed enough to proofread it better. Oh well. 
> 
> Enjoy it, y'all.

Babe is walking his dog when he sees him for the first time. Actually, he’s walking his roommate Bill’s dog. Well, really, the pup belongs to Bill's girlfriend Fran, but Babe knows that Bill is going to propose any day now, so he figures what’s her’s is his these days, anyway. So, Babe’s walking this dog, right, and then _swoosh_ —there he is. Its the bright sea foam green scrubs that catch Babe’s attention. They pop against the cold gray veneer that always seems to coat every inch and crevice of South Philly. The guy is riding his bike over the bridge, coming Babe’s way, when he makes a sudden turn by the park on the adjacent street corner and vanishes.

 _Swoosh_.

Forty-five seconds of Babe marveling this guy as he rides his bike over the bridge and around the corner in one smooth, fluid motion—that’s all it takes for Babe to fall in love.

He’s such a sucker. And he can’t wait to tell Bill.

* * *

“Okay, Babe,” says his friend Bill, slowly. Bill is often the voice of reason in Babe’s life, and Jesus Christ what does that say about Babe? Bill eyes his friend wearily, like he thinks Babe is a dumbass but is confused as to why nobody else seems to think so. “What do you even know about this guy that's got you all swoonin' and shit?”

Babe grins and launches the deluge of observations he’s had running on loop in his head since the moment he laid eyes on the guy the previous day. “He’s obviously a genius because he’s like, a doctor, which means he also cares about helping people and saving lives and shit. Which is cool. And practical.”

“So he’s compassionate,” chimes in their friend Joe Toye, thoughtfully. The comment earns him a stern glance from Bill that in no certain terms means ‘knock it off’ and a quick grin from Babe that in very certain terms means ‘exactly! thanks, buddy.’

“-he also cares about the environment and physical fitness ‘cause he was riding a bike.”

“Or he’s broke and can’t afford a car because he’s paying off his student debt from med school,” Bill counters.

“-and he’s gorgeous,” concludes Babe wistfully, earnestly. He’s going to ignore Bill’s last comment outright (despite any actual merit it may have).

“How could you tell?” Bill demands. “Guy was cruisin' by. You saw him for all of thirty seconds. How the fuck would you know if he was good lookin’ or not?”

Babe’s gaze cut a weak glare at his best friend. “I said I saw ‘im, okay? So back off.”

Bill surrenders his hands. Frowning, he mumbles, “Alright, alright. Christ. None‘ve it matters, anyway, ‘cause you don’t even know if this fella’s queer.”

“Don’t say ‘queer,’ man,” Joe corrects. “It sounds derogatory when you say it like that.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to say, Joe?” asks Bill with an eye roll, adding, “‘Derogatory,’ eh? Where’d you learn that word, huh, Joey? You studyin’ for the SAT, pal?”

“Fuck off.”

Babe watches their (not unusual) bickering for a few moments before he recedes to his bedroom to day dream about his doctor. “Great talk, guys! ‘Preciate your support. Can’t wait for you to meet him! ...can’t wait for _me_ to meet him.”

* * *

Two weeks pass before Babe sees the mysterious medical professional again. And this time is even better because it happens up close.

Babe is crossing the bridge, taking a leisurely evening stroll to try and give Bill and Fran some privacy back at the apartment. He’s got his headphones in, head bopping along to some catchy pop-rock shit that Joe and Bill and the other guys would give him hell for listening to, when he sees him.

He’s wearing the same sea foam green scrubs, and Babe recognizes the dark brown, leather messenger bag the guy has strapped across his body. Only, this time, the guy is walking with his bike, instead of riding it. Babe thinks that must be because of the cigarette the man has between his thin lips.

“I thought those things were bad for ya.” The words tumble out of Babe’s mouth before he can stop them. They’re coupled by a wide, toothy grin, one the stranger charmingly reciprocates with a more elegant, slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. Babe is thrilled beyond belief to see that up close the handsome stranger is more attractive than Babe ever could have imagined.

The guy plucks the cigarette from his lips, releasing a few thin wisps of smoke that disappear on the breeze almost instantly. “So I’ve heard.”

And holy _fuck_ that voice.

Honest to God, the man’s voice is like velvet and butter, deep and warm and coated in this syrupy Southern accent, and it makes Babe’s knees shake and threaten to cave in, like a kid asking his crush to the prom. Babe gets a rush of something powerful and pure, right down the heart of him. He’s gotta hear that voice again.

“Ain’t it a conflict of interest for a doctor to be smoking?” Babe gestures the scrubs.

“M’a Resident Nurse, not a doctor. And it’s only bad for me if my patients or supervisors see.” The guy—he’s got these stellar eyes, all beautiful brown with little honey color flecks in ‘em, and his equally dark hair is tousled in an effortless way that is both seemingly reckless and fetching—he smirks a little at Babe and his goddamn stomach flutters. The man’s giving him fuckin’ butterflies! “You don’t plan on bein’ a patient at the Children’s Hospital on Broad anytime soon, do ya?”

Babe laughs, both surprised and delighted by the guy’s sense of humor. “No, Doc, I’m not plannin’ on it.”

“Then I should be alright,” the man maintains his smirk as he takes another draw on his cigarette and navigates his bike around Babe, making his way down the bridge. “And I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

* * *

Babe starts walking the dog—Bill's dog, Fran's dog, whateva—every day around the same time he first saw the Doc. He walks in figure-eights, making giant loops near the park and the bridge, hopeful, waiting. Only, the guy doesn't show. So, Babe decides to increase his efforts, investing more time in his amateur career as a professional dog walker. He leashes the pup and goes for a stroll in the morning before work _and_ in the evening as per usual.

Still, nothing.

He starts going crazy. Bill and Joe and Fran and Ralph all let him know so. Except, he don't gotta be told. He _fuckin' knows._ See, he's having dreams about this guy. Dreams of sea foam green and dark chocolate brown. Of silky words whispered on a Southern drawl through wisps of cigarette smoke. He dreams of a man as equally seductive and alluring as he is intelligent and warmhearted.

He thinks he might be overreacting. Bill was right, he doesn't really know the guy. Maybe he's not warmhearted at all. For all Babe knows, the guy got into the medical field 'cause he liked watching people suffer or had some weird obsession with incurable diseases. And maybe the guy wasn't so smart. Even the folks who clean the bedpans and change the sheets at hospitals wear scrubs, right?

Christ, maybe he was thinking about this guy a little too much.

But he had to know. So, one day Babe decides to pop by the Children's Hospital on Broad where the guy said he worked. Its not until Babe enters the lobby that he realizes two things. One—he's totally fuckin' nuts. Two—Bill could never find out about this.

He walks up to the ladies at the front desk. “Uh, hi, I'm uh...I'm lookin' for a friend of mine.” He only then understands the full insanity and difficultly of what he is attempting. “He's a uh, a nurse, I think.”

“Do you know what ward?”

Babe cringes. “Nope.”

The woman delivers a friendly smile. “That's alright. What's your friend's name?”

Babe swallows. “I, uh. You know, I usually just call him Doc.” He tries to make it sound like a joke, is rewarded when she laughs, but when Babe fails to provide a name, her eyebrows become drawn and suspicion clouds her face. It only takes a few more awkward minutes for the woman to call over an armed security guard who promptly escorts Babe out of the building. Turns out, folks don't like grown men creeping around children's hospitals without good reason. Apparently, desperately needing to track down the nameless man who could possibly be the love of his life is not “good reason.”

Babe plops down on the curb a few steps away from the front doors and contemplates his next move. Admittedly, he doesn't have very many options.

That's when life decided to lend Babe a hand, rather than its usual kick in the balls.

“Thought you weren't gonna rat me out.”

Babe's head has never whipped so fast in his entire goddamn life. “Hey, Doc!” he beams and jumps to his feet. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he feigns nonchalance. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The man raises a black eyebrow in return. He jerks his chin toward the hospital. “You got a kid visitin' us?”

“What? Christ, no. No, I uh, I don't got a kid. Hell, I don't even got a cat.”

“You got a dog.”

And, well, he's got a point there. Babe explains the Bill's/Fran's/their dog/roommate situation in his typical, rambling manner. Thankfully, he realizes he's talking too much—a common problem—and tries to correct the conversation back on track. “Anyhow, I been walkin' him a lot lately, but I haven't seen you around the neighborhood.”

The guy—he really needs to know this man's name, this gorgeous, perfect man—nods toward the hospital looming overheard, amusement clear and bright in his dark eyes. “Been working odd hours. We've had a lot of complicated surgeries lately, gotta stay up here to monitor my patients, comfort their families.”

He can feel the dopey smile spread across his face. “That's real nice of you...to comfort the kids' families and stuff.”

The handsome stranger's eyes soften, his gaze darting towards the doors, to where the children are waiting. Something genuine and warm settles on the man's shoulders before he catches Babe's stare—and, boy, had he been staring—and turns sorta sheepish. “I should clock in.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Babe agrees too quickly, too eagerly. God, he's gotta stop trying to act aloof. He just makes himself look like a jackass. “Say, um, what...what time do you get off work? Ya know, from this long shift of saving children's lives. Maybe I could bring you a cup of coffee—if, if you like coffee—and...keep you company on the walk home?”

Waiting for a reply is like the long swim from the bottom of a lake up to the water's surface, its all pressure and pain and fear, followed by a sudden burst of air so desperately needed that it _hurts._ They study each other for a moment that was far too long by Babe's standards. When finally—finally!—the guy gives a casual shrug. “I drink my coffee black.”

This is all he says before turning on his heel, tugging his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. As he glides forward purposefully toward the doors, he calls, “See you at three a.m.!”

“Hey!” Babe shouts before the automatic doors could close, barring them from one another. “What's your name?”

The guy shoots him a smirk that shouldn't have been just as cute as it was sexy. “Gene. Gene Roe.”

Babe can't fight the wide grin that settles across his pale features. “Gene...” The name is spoken reverently. “Call me Babe.”

 


End file.
